


Glory of the Morning

by dogmatix



Category: Safehold Series - David Weber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, GFY, Gen, but there is a kiss, not really slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is kind of an AU-take on Merlin where he really <i>is</i> a demon. So, basically how it might have played out if Safehold were supernatural instead of scifi. (Imagine dimension-hopping instead of spaceships, or something.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glory of the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading Midst Toil and Tribulation, and there was this one phrase about Merlin as a 'demon familiar' and it spawned this. No spoilers, in fact it's kinda set during the Off Armageddon Reef period. Completely un-beta'd. X3;;;;;;;;;;

Crown Prince Cayleb Ahrmakh slipped silently into the room at his back, sinking deep into the shadows as the guards passed down the corridor. His luck, if it could be called that, was holding. But it couldn’t last forever.

Unconsciously Cayleb shifted his weight into a defensive stance, and pain spiked through his bad leg, nearly folding it out from under him. He bit back a yelp of pain and collapsed against the cold stone wall, waiting out the pain until he could stand again.

His leg twinged unhappily at him, but it was really the least of his worries right now. And to think, a mere five-day ago it had been the bane of his existence. A failed assassination attempt a year before had left some of his most trusted bodyguards dead and his leg irreparably damaged. Because of it, he’d never be at home on a ship again, never be able to move without pain. The wound had cut him off from his beloved marines, and he could have conceived of no worse fate. Until his uncle Kahlvyn had turned on the Ahrmahks.

Now his father was dead, and his murderer hovered solicitously over Cayleb’s younger brother and sister. And if not for Bynzhamyn Raice’s hurried, furtive warning, Cayleb – grief-stricken and in deep mourning – would have walked right into his uncle’s ‘loving’ arms.

Instead here he was, avoiding the palace guards, without plan or recourse. Perhaps Kahlvyn wouldn’t kill Cayleb right away, but right then Cayleb didn’t trust himself to predict his uncle’s actions, and putting himself in his uncle’s power for any length of time struck him as a horribly bad idea.

Silently Cayleb nudged the door shut and took a look around the room. It was one of the guest rooms, though it hadn’t seen any use in many a year if the dust and drop cloths were any indication. A moth-eaten tapestry on the back wall depicted Langhorne and some of the other Archangels, although the thing was too moth-eaten to really make out which ones. 

He dragged the dusty cloth off one side of a bench, and lowered himself down with a breathy grunt, turning so that he was looking up at the tapestry. Almost automatically his hands came up to clasp in prayer, but he paused. The whole Hanth dispute had made it abundantly clear that Mother Church sided with everyone but Charis. Suddenly Cayleb felt indescribably weary. If even the Church turned its back on Charis, what hope was there for Cayleb, mutilated and alone as he was?

Still, the Church wasn’t the Archangels, not really. Right? For lack of anything else to do, Cayleb clasped his hands and prayed. He prayed to God, to Langhorne, Bedard, Schueler, any and every Archangel he could think of. Asking for help, for insight, for strength or resolution, something, _anything_.

Dead silence.

He hadn’t really expected a response, of course. He wasn’t that arrogant. Which didn’t make the hope any less bitter as it died, leaving him alone and powerless.

“Please,” he said quietly, desperately, head bowed, “ _please_. _Anyone_.”

“My, it’s quite dusty in here, isn’t it.”

Cayleb’s head jerked up at the voice, and he gaped at the strange, short woman who drew the dust cloth the rest of the way off the bench and sat down next to Cayleb. “Who- who are you?”

Cayleb couldn’t place her age, although he’d guess her to be in her thirties or forties. Midnight black hair was drawn back into a neat bun, and he’d guess her to be from Harchong, although she had no accent.

“It certainly is an honour to meet you, Prince Cayleb,” she said calmly, inclining her head in a polite greeting. “I suspect you may have heard of me. I am Pei Shan-wei.”

Cayleb’s reaction was instantaneous and automatic. Unfortunately his bad leg collapsed with a flare of agony as he jumped up and away from the Mother of Lies. He went down hard, crashing against a low table that left him with a bruised back and a wrenched wrist.

“Prince Cayleb?” came the polite inquiry after a few moments had passed and Cayleb wasn’t curled up in agony anymore.

“No,” he said firmly, trying to put as little weight on his bad leg as possible as he forced himself back on his feet.

Pei Shan-wei nodded and stood. “Then I bid you farewell, young prince.” She stepped backwards and Cayleb knew that in the next instant she’d be gone.

“Wait!”

Shan-wei paused, regarding him politely. “Yes?”

Embarrassed, Cayleb dropped his outstretched hand to his side. “Why- why did you come to me?”

She gave a small shrug. “I know what it is, to be hunted.”

“And, you’re just going to leave? You’re not going to try to convince me to accept your help?” Cayleb realized with a jolt of shame that if she did, she would likely succeed.

“If I must trick or cajole, the return is miserly at best. And to be honest, most find the price for my aid forever too high – it is seldom easy and never cheap.”

“What kind of aid could you offer?” Cayleb was shocked to hear himself ask.

“That depends, prince, what do you need?”

It took Cayleb a moment to articulate the maelstrom inside him. “I don’t want to die, but, that’s not worth bartering my soul for. I want Charis to be safe, but I realize that that’s a very vague goal. I, I want my father back,” his voice shook slightly at that last, and he looked at Shan-wei, fists clenched. For his father-

“I am sorry, prince, but he is not within my grasp, and so I cannot return what I do not have. I am only a fallen angel, and death is not so easy to trifle with.”

Cayleb bit back bitter disappointment, and nodded. Still, it was some comfort to know that wherever his father was, Shan-wei had no dominion over him. “Then, I suppose all I really want is to stop Uncle Kahlvyn. But, is that the right thing to do? His coup succeeded,” Cayleb admitted with muted anger, “Is it worth the upheaval to try and regain my position? I am young, and Charis will need a shrewd hand to survive the coming decades. Would my uncle make a better king? If he would, do I have the right to place revenge before the wellbeing of my people?”

He hadn’t noticed Shan-wei move, but found her standing within easy reach nonetheless. She put out a hand and touched his wet cheek where the tears were flowing unchecked. “But you suspect him of trying to kill you?”

Cayleb snuffled once and wiped furiously at his eyes. “I. Yes. Bynzhamyn told me some things that- but that was a five-day ago, and I haven’t seen him since. I’m not sure he’s still alive. But if Uncle Kahlvyn killed my father, and someone certainly did, then he needs to kill me, too.”

“Mm. In what capacity does your uncle rule?”

“Capacity? Regent.”

“And if he should seek a more direct route to power, when your siblings come of age if not before?”

Cayleb opened his mouth to answer, and froze. Oh. Oh God. Uncle Kahlvyn seemed content to be Regent for now, but was that just because too many ‘accidents’ too close together would look suspicious? Even Uncle Kahlvyn might balk at killing children, but once Zhan and Zhanayt reached their majority? “I-“ He couldn’t let his brother and sister die, but Charis still needed the best ruler it could get. But he _couldn’t_ let Zhan and Zhanayt die.

“Think on this. Your uncle hungers for power. You have seen this. While it is not a fatal flaw, often it leads to inadvisable decisions, and your uncle has already proven that he places power before honour. You may not make a perfect king, but would Charis truly prosper under your uncle?”

He was too young, he wasn’t _ready_ to be king. He hadn’t even set foot on a ship in over a year, had in fact retreated from all aspects of his responsibility after his injury. His face flamed. He had abandoned his duties, and his father had allowed it, to give him time to heal. He might or might not be a better alternative to his uncle, but his uncle would be a _bad king_.

He had to try. “What help can you offer?” Cayleb asked in a steady voice, meeting Shan-wei’s calm eyes.

“Two things. One, I can heal your injury. I can only do this once, so any injuries sustained afterwards will remain. Two, I can provide you with a demon familiar.”

“A- a familiar?” Cayleb asked, dubious. The use of his leg was almost enough on its own. But to have a demon following him around?

“A bodyguard and advisor.” Shan-wei motioned with her hand, almost as if she were beckoning someone, and a misty shape took form behind her, quickly taking the shape of a woman with striking pale skin and black hair. Her eyes were blue, but flat and dead. Shan-wei turned to look at the new arrival.

“A bodyguard? Her?”

“Hm, I forget how much things have changed. Perhaps a man would suit better after all.” And with a twist of Shan-wei’s delicate hand, the dead-eyed woman became a dead-eyed man, one cheek scarred and with a thin mustache, but otherwise almost identical. “So, are these terms acceptable?”

Cayleb hesitated on the edge of acceptance. Was he really about to make a _deal_ with _Shan-wei_? “My people will not be affected by my deal?”

“Only insofar as your actions affect them. They will bear no effects from the deal itself.”

“Then, the payment is my soul?”

“Yes,” Shan-wei inclined her head, “when you die, your soul comes to me.”

His heart was in his throat. “I accept.”

Shan-wei didn’t crow or gloat, merely nodded, and produced a dagger. She took Cayleb’s hand and pricked a finger, pressing the blood on a flat, solid tablet that she summoned from thin air and looked to have some kind of contract written on it. “There, sealed and accepted. Now, you must awaken your familiar.”

“Wake him? How?”

“How does one usually wake one in an enchanted sleep?” Shan-wei asked, and there was a hint of amusement in her voice.

Cayleb blushed, immediately realizing what she meant. “You’re not serious?”

“Perfectly serious, I’m afraid,” Shan-wei said unrepentantly, and gestured for the familiar to step forward, which he did.

Grimacing, Cayleb stepped forward to meet the familiar, and, taking the man’s head in his hands, brought their lips together for a kiss. At first it was merely a press of lips, but in the next instant the familiar had come alive and Cayleb felt a wet tongue swipe across his lips and dip shallowly between startled lips.

Cayleb squeaked and started back, only for a sense of lightheadedness to threaten to tip him over. Strong hands caught him by the arms and steadied him.

“Easy there, it’ll pass in a moment. I’m Merlin, by the way.”

Cayleb looked at the demon familiar – Merlin – who now looked very awake indeed, with a sharp intelligence gazing out from intense blue eyes.

“Cayleb. Uh…” Shan-wei was gone, Cayleb realized. And his leg didn’t hurt any more.

“Pleasure to meet you, Cayleb,” Merlin grinned. “So, I hear we have a kingdom to save?”


End file.
